What is: The World Born at Tilsit

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Details eventually, maybe.
Also, let's play spot the inconsistencies, shall we? But the true question is, are they really inconsistent, or is there conspiracy afoot?

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Last or second-to-last bit of a flag filler before West Africa or Chapter 8. If there will be more flag filler, it'll be neutral states.

Note: While Taiping is listed here as a member of the Anglo-sphere, and also a member of the Russo-sphere, both certainly try to keep their distance from them.

Also, Hawaii, because Oceania is the one place in the world I haven't touched on at all so far. I've even put more effort into South America.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Like in the Congo, the soldiers and officers of West Africa did not look for a fight. They were fine with their comfortable and lax positions. Both sides had a major disadvantage that they feared would be exploited. The British holdings were surrounded by the French, and the French knew that Britain could more easily reinforce their colonies than the French could. And so the front stood still.

But also like in the Congo, this changed with the arrival of Emmett Moray. Emmett Moray was only briefly in Freetown, but while there he was able to whip some of the British garrison into a fervor, and he demanded of the Commander in British Guinea that by the end of the year one should be able to walk from the Rokel to the Gambia without fear of French interference. Moray made similar demands in the Gold Coast, that the French “Free Coast” be removed.

And indeed, in April, as Moray started his march to Fort Durant, the commanders in British Guinea, Gambia, Gold Coast, and Yoruba made their attack on the French Guinea and Free Coast. The following month, the French in Senegal marched into the east end of British Gambia, French in the Ivory Coast struck inner British Guinea, and the French ally of Mossi struck into the Gold Coast. (offmap) Borno even attacked British forces on Lake Chad, although failed miserably, and Borno’s small section of the lake has been captured.

Holy moly, 2 months since I posted the last one of these. I really have been quite busy doing other things haven't I? Also doesn't help that I couldn't find the source for half of the city names in West Africa I used back in What is the World 1850 and 1900.

[theman7777]

Very nice map! One question: How did the British cut off the French in the Free Coast? Couldn't they reinforce through West Sokoto?

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Dec 14, 2017 21:00:00 GMT theman7777 said:

Very nice map! One question: How did the British cut off the French in the Free Coast? Couldn't they reinforce through West Sokoto?

Theoretically, yes, but that's quite a bit of journey they'd have to make. The shortest route would have supply coming to Bergerton/Bergerville, up through the Ivory Coast to the Mossi occupied parts of the Gold Coast, and then down to the Free Coast. That's quite a long path, quite a bit of it going through rain forest.

[theman7777]

Ah, I see. Thanks for the response!

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Part 8: Ice of the Baltic

Peter sat in the study of the Catherine Palace of the Tsarskoye Selo. The Brits and his officers hated that he has set up his office in the Catherine Palace, so close to the frontlines, nearly surrounded by Republican troops. Rather, they set themselves up in Narva far to the west, far from the front. Even his bravest generals would not go further than Oranienbaum. But Peter refused to rule from anywhere except for the true home of the Emperors. The only palace that could be better would be that of the Winter Palace. When Peter first returned to the palace after it had been captured to the forces that supported him, Peter couldn’t help but think of how far the Brits had gone so quickly. November of 1913, he fled the Catherine Palace, and the following spring he returned, a great accomplishment. The only thing left to reclaim on the Baltic Coast was Mythical Saint Petersburg, founded by Peter the Great, his ancestor and namesake.

As Peter went over entire pillars of documents, attempting to sort out his government’s deficit problem, one of his officers opened the door. He didn’t even knock, Peter would have to make sure this man was demoted. The officer declared, “Your imperial majesty, the Republicans are threatening the palace!” Peter sighed. It’s not like this wasn’t the first time that Peter had to be forced out of the Catherine Palace because of Republicans, in fact this would be the third since his temporary exile to Sweden that he would flee from the Palace. Every single it has been a hassle. The Republicans never actually succeeded in retaking it, and so each time Peter would have fled for nothing. But, it was a necessary hassle, for if once the Republicans did capture the Catherine Palace, and Peter with it, that’d be the end of the war for him, and possibly the end for Britain as well.

Peter grabbed his cane, that Peter felt that didn’t need despite his physician’s insistence. Peter told the officer to grab the documents, that Peter would still need to administer his country, even if not in the Catherine Palace. He made his way through the now far too familiar path from his office to the main entrance. As he hobbled along, he requested from the officer to know where his son and heir was.

“I believe the Grand Duke is off hunting, your imperial highness,” the officer answered.

“Of course he is,” the Emperor grumbled. Emperor Peter had insisted that his son, also named Peter, stay with him at the Catherine Palace, or at least in the nearby Alexander Palace. Sadly, the Grand Duke Peter did not wish to rule as the Emperor did, likely because he was never meant to rule and was trained rather in the ways of military and the arts, “Do you know where he’s hunting?” The Emperor asked.

The officer responded, “I don’t know where exactly, but I know it’s to the west, likely near Oranienbaum.”

“I assume you already have men searching for him?”

“Of course. The Emperor would have my head if I let his heir die!”

Peter gave a half hearted chuckle. He continued to ask about his wife, to be assured that she would be joining him soon. leaving the palace entering the Imperial Autocart waiting for him outside. It did not take long for the Autocart to go far enough away for the Catherine Palace to leave view. Peter would have watched it disappear out of vision, but he was already so familiar with the sight that he didn’t need to physically see it to know what it would look like.

Peter gazed into the forests of Ingria. He recalled his childhood with Alex and Nicky, as well as other brothers and sisters no longer with him. Even before their father came to the throne as Alexander II, these woods were little Alex’s personal kingdom, a kingdom that Peter and Nicky would eventually co-rule. Peter was sure if searched hard enough, he could find the place where the brothers built their own personal kremlin.

Now, somewhere in those woods were soldiers loyal to him and loyal to Britain. Hell, there might be republicans somewhere in there. His own son was somewhere out there, doing the adult version of playing in the woods. His grandchildren, dear God he hoped they weren’t playing in them right now. His autocart passed by a marching troop of soldiers only reinforced this thought.

Then seeing these troops made him think of his time as an officer during the Moslem War (or, as the Brits called it, the Third Explorers’ War). It’s ironic that it was during this war, a war in which Russians and Brits were fighting each other, was where Peter started to develop his Anglophilia. Indeed, Peter believed that he could trace everything that caused this war, the War of the Russian Succession, back to the Moslem War. It was there that Peter developed his Anglophilia, it was there that Nicholas developed his Francophilia, it was there that Le Toulonnais gained so much prominence that he could become Emperor of France at the expense of the Bonapartes. It was during the Moslem War that Alex, Peter, and Nicky all started to grow apart. Before then, their rivalry were those of brothers. Afterwards, their rivalries were comparable to those of Russia, Britain, and France.

Peter and his autocart finally arrived at their destination, the Palace of Oranienbaum. He left the autocart, aiding his wife in doing the same, and spent no time to find the study and get back to work.

Peter worked through the rest of the day, with the only interruption being when the palace staff arrived with dinner, gone cold waiting for Peter to arrive in the dining hall. Peter complained a little about his cold meal, but didn’t bother pursuing the argument. He worked until sundown and even after.

It was only when he started to rub his eyes that Peter conceded to stopping his work. As he set down his pen for the night, certain that he would be using it again before the sun came up, Peter took a moment just to gaze out the window. As he looked, he noticed something. While his eyesight wasn’t what it once was, he could definitely notice the distinctive orange glow of a campfire, out in the woods surrounding Oranienbaum. He must have stared at this orange glow for well over a minute before making the decision to investigate himself. He grabbed his cane and his winter coat headed out, only being paused momentarily by one the Imperial guard, who insisted on following and protecting him.

Peter and his guard trudged their way through the snow. The first thing Peter noticed was the return of the orange glow of the fire, followed by the faintest hints of singing flowing through the air, a marching song. As Peter and his guard got closer, he noticed it wasn’t being sung in Russian, but rather in English. A few more steps, and Peter was able to pick up the exact words.



Dark continent, mysterious shroud

Enlightened continent, tall and proud

Africa with Promethian Flame

Set ablaze, who’s to blame?



The Trickster, Le Tou-lon-nais!

The Eagle, from Sa-xo-nay!

The Russians, who’s-to-say?

Sir Abbot, to war he will say “Aye!”



The march drowned out the sound of Peter and his guard’s footsteps crunching in the snow. The two made it to the makeshift camp, full of soldiers too distracted with their song to notice two men approaching them. There were probably about twenty of them around this fire, enjoying their song. It was only when the soldiers were done singing that they noticed the two strangers watching over them. One man panicked and dove for his gun, while another man started yelling at Peter.

“Identify yourselves!” this soldier demanded.

Peter was quick to realize that these Brits didn’t recognize him, and responded, “my name is Paul Romanov, I’m a cousin of Emperor Peter Romanov and a lieutenant colonel in the Imperial Russian Army. This is a member of my staff, Jacob Utkin.”

The Brits calmed down, the one who had grabbed his gun lowered it. The soldier who was speaking for them spoke up again, “Apologies, sir. Can’t be too cautious, after all.”

Peter frowned, “You weren’t exactly being that cautious. Jacob and I were here for quite a bit of time before you noticed us. If we were Republicans, quite a few of you would be dead right now,” The faces of the Brits grew disappointed, as if a father were lecturing them for doing something bad, “Don’t worry,” Peter reassured, “Singing is not the worst thing for soldiers to do, it’s a great way to maintain morale, just as long as you stay careful about it.”

The leading soldier pepped up again, “Right, sir! I’m Corporal Cameron Rollins of the British Expeditionary Force,” He stopped to salute, placing his right hand above his heart, “Anyways, Corporal Romanov, may I ask what you’re doing here?”

Peter was taken aback a bit by being called a corporal, already forgetting the rank he had given his alias. Once he recollected himself, he replied, “I was told by my superior officer to do a thorough check of some of the soldiers in and around Oranienbaum, and I decided to do it myself. Funnily enough, my superior is another Romanov. There’s far too many of us in the officer corps,” The Brits laughed at this joke.

“Hey, Colonel Romanov, do you have time to just sit and have some tea?” Rollins asked.

Peter thought for a moment. His curiosity had been sated by investigating the camp, and he was tired as well, but he was getting a genuine enjoyment from being around this soldiers. Like the soldiers he saw marching earlier that day, he couldn’t help but remember back to the Moslem War, but he now remembered the better parts of it. He remembered when he, too, could just relax with his subordinates and sing folk songs and marches. Peter answered, “Of course I can stay,” much to his guard’s annoyance.

The Brits cheered, and they quickly grabbed a kettle to start brewing some tea. Rollins unfurled his bedroll and presented it to ‘Paul’ as something to sit upon in place of the snow-ladened ground. ‘Paul’ graciously accepted this gift and sat upon it. “So, that song you were singing earlier, what is it? I’ve never heard of it before.” Peter asked.

Another one of the soldiers responded, “Back home, we called it ‘To War We Say Aye,’ it’s about the Explorers’ Wars and the conflict we had with Le Toulonnais. Or, I suppose the conflict between Sir Abbot and Le Toulonnais.”

A third soldier chimed in, “Yeah, back home we call Abbot ‘Abbot the warhawk.’ You know, during his entire tenure as Member of the House of Lords, back in the early days of Queen Anne II, he has yet to once vote against a war?” He spoke with growing malice in his voice.

“Abbot isn’t very liked in Britain then?” Peter asked, “I would have imagined that, given his total time as Prime Minister, Abbot would have been loved.”

A fourth soldier said, “He is quite loved back home. But I can tell you exactly which people hate him, and that’s every parent who’s lost a son, every sibling who’s lost a brother, every wife who’s lost a husband, every child who’s lost a father to war in the last half century. My own father died fighting to claim the Swahililand in the aftermath of the Fourth Explorers’ War, and one of my older brothers died in that same land putting down a rebellion. So you can bet that whenever an election comes up, my ballot will always be for the Nationals.” And the other Brits cheered in agreement.

“Oh yes,” Peter replied, “I, too, lost two of my brothers back during the Moslem War, the Third Explorers’ War,” the Brits quickly gave their condolences, before Peter continued, “But then, I have to ask, why are singing a song that seems to be rejoicing going to war?”

“It’s a sarcastic song, or at least that’s what I’ve told it’s been, anyway,” the fourth soldier replied, “We don’t actually want to go to war, we’re just making backhanded compliments to sir Abbot.”

Another soldier spoke up, “How old is Abbot anyway?”

“Wasn’t he born back during the days of Napoleon I?”

“I’ve heard he got his first taste of war back during the war with the Americans.”

“No, no! He was already an old man when was fighting side by side with the Duke of Marlborough!”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Peter, “but I’m afraid you never told me what you’re doing here yourself. Seems a bit odd for reserves to be camping out away from the city, and odder still for those that should be on the front to be this far away.”

Rollins responded, “Direct orders from Lieutenant Lester Coy. We were told to guard this palace, and so we are.”

“Guard the Oranienbaum?” Peter asked, “but why?”

Rollins shrugged, “I don’t question orders, not my place to,” He looked up and over to the palace, “looks like someone is occupying it right now, maybe we’re supposed to be guarding whoever is inside.” Peter looked over too, and noticed that there was still light glow coming from the office he had been using only a couple of minutes ago.

Peter thought through his next action carefully, before saying, “I’ve heard that that is where Emperor Peter goes when he has to retreat from the Catherine Palace in the Tsarskoye Selo. Perhaps he’s there right now.” Suddenly, the soldiers were whispering between themselves, speculating with one another.

Rollins replied, “Have you ever met Emperor Peter? He is your cousin after all, so I can only imagine that you would have.”

“Not really, no. I have been to the Catherine and Winter Palaces, I have even met with late Emperor Alexander and the pretender Nicholas, but I have not met with Peter.”

“I wonder what Peter is like,” a soldier said.

“I hear he’s rather cold and aloof,” another said.

“Doesn’t sound like someone I’d want to meet.”

Peter quickly spoke up, “oh I don’t know, I can’t really imagine him being that terrible.”

“Really?” Rollins replied, “Have you heard what happened between Peter and Emmett Moray? Apparently they had a really bad falling out. Although, to be fair to Peter, Moray isn’t really well known for his careful use of words, so I suppose it could be Moray’s fault.” Peter thought to himself that it definitely was Moray’s fault, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

After a few moments of silence, Rollins spoke up again, “Hey, maybe we can go make Emperor Peter a visit!”

“Do you really think that that’d be the best idea?” Peter responded, “I mean, he might not be as cold as we might think, but he’s still an Emperor trying to reunite his country in a civil war.”

“Hm, I suppose.” Once more, they sat silent, looking into the fire as it danced and flickered. Peter was about to get up and leave with his guard when the tea kettle started whistling. Rollins served Peter a cup, then called over to one of his compatriots, requesting to play another song. This soldier took out a small instrument, one that Peter never encountered before, or at least that he couldn’t remember encountering.

The soldier played a couple notes, and it was immediately apparent that the other Brits around him recognized the tune and they quickly stood attentively. Peter himself recognized the song, but couldn’t quite place it at first. But, as the lyrics began and those Brits started to dance around the fire, he knew immediately what it was.



When Britain fi-i-irst, at Heaven’s command

Aro-o-o-ose from out the a-a-a-zure main,

Arose, arose from ou-ou-ou-out the a-zure main,

This was the charter, the charter of the land,

And guardian a-a-angels sang this strain:



Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves.

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.



The nations, no-o-o-o-ot so blest as thee,

Must i-i-i-i-in their turn, to ty-y—yrants fall,

Must in their turn, to ty-y-rants fall,

While thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish great and free,

The dread and e-e-e-e-nvy of them all.



Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves.

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!



Peter knew that were four more verses to the song, but they cut it short. He applauded the song, a song that he knew was so entwined with the current British identity and struggle against the French.

Peter sighed, got his feet, and approached Rollins, “Well, I think I must now say my goodbyes. I wish you a good a life, a good life to you all!” Rollins and his regiment wished him goodbye to ‘Paul’ as well, and Peter and his guard made his way back to the palace, more cheerful from this encounter.



~~~~~-----~~~~~



On the other side of the Baltic, a regiment of French soldiers sit lazily in small, wooden watchtower, on the northern part of the isle of Ruegen, overlooking the southwestern Baltic Sea. It was a shoddy, short, tower, practically more of a bunker, consisting of only two rooms stacked on top of each other, neither tall enough to comfortably stand in. On a clear day, the residents of the tower could see most of the way across the Baltic to Sweden. While clearly not all of it, it was enough to spot most British ships and report back to Stralsund.

This tower was populated with three young soldiers, bundled up in blankets and coats, members of the well renowned Armée. One was a German from Thuringia. Another was a half-Zulu half-Frenchmen, son of an officer in the Armée. Although, this Zulu wasn’t the most peculiar person in that tower, for that honor went to the last of the three, Napoleon Justin Bonaparte, great-grandson of the deposed Napoleon III.

“Grande Armée!” The German declared, revealing his hand of cards. While Napoleon Justin was hard at work, watching over the Baltic, with pencil, paper, and telegraph beside him, his two comarades were busy playing cards, gambling what little money they had between the two of them. It would annoy him more if it weren’t for the fact that Napoleon Justin had proven, even if only to himself, that he could do all the necessary work by himself. He considered reporting his two comarades to his superiors for laziness, but decided against it, as he had time and time again.

As the German, named Konrad Ebner, was collecting his winning prize, the Zulu, named Judicael Helope (a name given to him by his French mother), started shuffling and dealing the cards as best he could with gloves hampering him. He called Napoleon Justin, “Come now, my Emperor, will you play just one hand with us? Surely you should be capable of looking over your shoulder every minute or two to check to see if there’s Brits over the horizon.”

Napoleon Justin thought for a moment, before reluctantly agreeing with a hefty sigh. Without getting up, he turned himself around to face his comarades. He sloppily wrote his bet on a slip of paper, explaining he would repay them once they returned to their barracks. With that he picked up the hand dealt to him.

Soon, the armies of cardboard and paper waged war on each other. It was only appropriate that in Napoleon Justin’s hand was the King of Tiles, representing his thrice-great grandfather, Napoleon I. It would not take long for Konrad and Judicael to reveal their kings, Konrad with the King of Pikes, Louis the Sun King, and Judicael with the King of Hearts, Jean Le Toulonnais, the greatest traitor in French history. The last King, the King of Clovers, Philippe Auguste, remained hidden somewhere in the deck.


“So, my Emperor,” started Judicael, a couple minutes in the round, “have you figured out a way to regain your throne?”


“What do you think, Judicael?” Napoleon Justin responded, annoyed, “I’ve been stuck on this rock for over a year now, with no sign of leaving.”


“Are you really complaining?" Konrad replied, “Ruegen is one of the most beautiful lands in Germany, you should enjoy yourself.”


“It’s a prison, that’s what this is, a prison for those with greater ambition.”


“I’d imagine you’d find Heaven to be a prison, keeping you from becoming Emperor.”


“Do you have no ambition, Konrad! Did you not wish to unite Thuringia under a new dynasty, the House of Ebner? How can you do that when you’re stuck here on Ruegen?”


You see, my Emperor,” Judicael interjected, “good things come to those who wait.”


“My grandfather waited for 20 years, what good came to him? He became an adviser to a pretender. Le Toulonnais, the traitor that he is, has proven to me that fortune favors those who dare.”


“How did you ever convince us to join your plot?” Judicael sighed.


“Because, Judicael, you know in your heart that a Bonaparte belongs on the French Throne!” Declared Napoleon Justin, “just as I know in my heart that you shall become one of the greatest commanders in the Armee. Just as I know that you, Konrad, shall unite Thuringia once more. In this humble bunker is a Triumvirate of Greatness. Perhaps not a triumvirate of the greatest, but greatness nonetheless. We few shall change history, and I am sure it will be for the better.”


As his comarades came to remember why they had come to recognize him as the true Emperor, Napoleon Justin happened to glance out the window, noticing a faint, dark smudge across the icy Baltic. He took a closer look, completely turning himself around and placing the binoculars to his eyes. Just at the horizon, he saw a column of smoke rising high into the sky, and a closer look revealed more such columns, a clear sign of the British Navy. Napoleon Justin called for comarades to prepare their duties and man their stations. Jusicael and Konrad within a moment hurried through the hole that led to the bottom level as Napoleon Justin started to announce what to report back to Stralsund, that a British convoy had been spotted due north 20 km heading East toward Bornholm.


A message reported back soon, “ACKNOWLEDGED SENDING SQUADRON TO CONFIRM AND HARASS.” The three soldiers were left confused. The French-Aligned navy in the Baltic had been sunk months ago, leaving them nothing to possibly harass with. They waited nonetheless, diligently observing and periodically reporting back. After about five minutes, they heard a faint humming buzz. They were concerned about what it was, and were prepared to evacuate in case it was artillery fire heading towards them. A couple more moments, and they came to fully recognize the sound, that of an engine. A few more moments still, and the source came into view: Five Aeros, flying in a wedge shape heading towards the Baltic. The soldiers have heard rumors recently of weaponized Aeros, the so-called “Waraero,” but they never believed it. Now they witnessed five of these Waraeros fly off to where the ships were spotted in the Baltic.


The three passed the pair of binoculars between themselves, bearing witness to the attack on the British supply convoy. They witnessed the waraeros dropping what appeared to be artillery shells, which destroyed two enemy ships, without a single loss themselves. They then saw the waraeros head back to shore in smug triumph.


Napoleon Justin, Judicael, and Konrad all return to their stations. The cards from their game had mixed up in the hurry of the situation, and so a new game would have to start. Napoleon Justin refused the offer to join in another game as he peered off to the fire and smoke coming from the British convoy, on a journey now to bottom of the Baltic, plotting and scheming as his ancestors would have done a century ago.

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[MinnesotaNationalist]

The Palace of Sainte-Jeanne, the People's Palace, the Shining Star, the Universal Throne, the culmination of the reign of Emperor Jean of France. One part architecture, one part astronomy, one part art. This building was intended to be the ultimate piece of French Propaganda, a step up above the Statues of Liberty in New York Harbor, the Bonapartesdenkal in Kassel, Westphalia. Millions were poured into the Palace, only for Emperor Jean to die shortly after completion. Therefor, it was left to Jean's successor, Emperor Charles d'Egier, to inaugurate the palace, and he did so with perhaps the greatest jubilee ever thrown.

Emperor Charles invited people from all classes, from Kings and Popes, to Farmers and Laborers, and in a rare occurrence, even invited Emperor Alexander III of Russia and Arthur II of Britain to join (invitations they, understandably, declined). Some reports say upwards of a million people swarmed Sainte-Jeanne for this event (although these reports are likely highly exaggerated). In the Inauguration of Sainte-Jeanne, three ceremonies were held: One was a tribute to Emperor Jean, such a beloved Emperor among the lower classes; Another was the official coronation of Emperor Charles, held in the center of the Grand Ball Room; the last being the inauguration of the palace itself.

In the spirit of Emperor Jean, Charles throughout the festivities would do something he would rarely do as Emperor, and that was to speak to the everyday people, asking them about their problems to what he could to alleviate them, even if only temporarily, although it was evident that Charles simply didn't have the same optimistic charm that just radiated off of Jean. Charles would also, again in the spirit of Jean, personally aid in the clean-up of the party, at least as much as his age would allow him to.

The Palace is remarkable in it's beauty, most notably in the Sunrise, Sunset, and, to a lesser extent, Summer Halls in an attempt to capture that of the Hall of Mirrors back in Versailles, on the other side of Paris from Sainte-Jeanne. The Sunrise and Sunset Halls were both precisely built so that the outer walls will always face towards the part of the horizon from which the sun comes up or the sun goes down, respectively. Many have described the feelings of the Sunrise and Sunset in their respective halls, with the Sunrise bringing vibrant, youthful energy in the form of lively greens and yellows, that can bring cheer even to the most depressed. The Sunset brings warmth in the reds and oranges, as if standing near a hearth.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Much of early 1915 was silent. Britain quietly patrolled the Mediterranean, with French ships swiftly fleeing to any safe harbor they can get to. France did introduce the Sousmarin (or SM-Boat, or Submarine), which did damage many British boats, but could never kill before they had to flee. Rumors come down from the Baltic of France using weaponized aerocarts to attack ships, but these are surely nothing more than rumors. On the Isle of Sicily, King Vittorio flees by aerocart from Caltanissetta as French forces push further into the Island.

The most important battle in the Mediterranean in Early 1915 was the Battle of Ustica in May. Part of the British fleet was patrolling the Tyrrhenian Sea, when this fleet was surprised by large French force. The Brits were able outmaneuver the French enough for minimal damage to be inflicted on them, but it started to turn around when the rumors of French Waraeros was confirmed. Of the 9 British ships that went into the Battle of Ustica, including 2 battleships, 3 cruisers, and 4 destroyers, only 2 cruisers and one destroyer made it out, with the French having losing slightly less. The Mediterranean was contested once more.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

While there were smaller skirmishes between the French and British Fleets, no grand campaign was made against one another. Then, in early 1915, the French fleet retreated back to the Mediterranean to reinforce their fleets there. The remains of the Pro-French fleet, made up mostly of Haitians with what few ships the Mexicans bothered to send, was decimated. It was not long later that the Brits landed in Port-of-Haiti, where the Haitians immediately surrender. The rest of Winter and Spring of 1915 was spent cleaning up the Lesser Antilles, with plans for the rest of the Greater Antilles in in fall of 1915.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

In December of 1914, the most indirect front of the war opened up in East Africa. The French called it the Somali Front, the Brits, the Ethiopian Front, after the respective enemy in the front. The Somalis of Berbera and Mogadishew invaded Ethiopia through the Ogaden and the Gallaland, to limited success. The following March, Ethiopia responded by invading the Jabuty province, to more success, occupying the province capital (of the same name). Their march to Zeila, though, was halted. A second Somali campaign against the Ethiopians started in May, but has yet to see much success.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

[MinnesotaNationalist]

For months, the Ruthenian Front on the Dnieper was silent. Any attempt to start another season of Campaigning by crossing the Dnieper would be suicidal. Instead, for these quiet months, the French and Russians dug tunnels beneath the river near Kiev to get around this problem. Then in September, diggers from enemy sides came across each other accidentally. They reported back to their superiors, who in turn threw troops down the tunnels, thus beginning the battle of Kiev, or the battle of the Blood Dnieper.

After a few minutes of fighting in the tunnels, the waters of the Dnieper rumbled, the earth shook, buildings fell, and great waves hit Kiev. The tunnels had collapsed, killing thousands of soldiers instantly. The bloodiest second in human history. As the tunnels collapsed, the defensives on both sides were damaged, and in the resulting confusion both sides crossed the Dnieper in a series of attacks and counter-attacks, hoping to break the stalemate. After several days, commanders from both sides agreed to a truce to regain their bearings, finally ending the battle.

Locals had already by this point started referring to the Dnieper as the “Red-Tinted Dnieper,” but this event in particular is referred much more bluntly as the Bloody Dnieper, thus the name of The Battle of the Bloody Dnieper. Some reported that the river water downstream was noticeably thicker. Upwards of a 100,000 died on both sides on the deadliest days so far in the war. The Geography of the Dnieper was changed as the river bed sank by 2 meters, changing the normally calm Kievan section of the river into rapids.

After the battle, officers on both the French and Russian sides came to the conclusion that any attempt to break the deadlock on the Dnieper would require a campaign of incalculable proportions. While the Russians started to breath a sigh of relief, the French set their eyes once more on Constantinople, the City of the World’s Desire.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

France starts Summer off by taking Konya, capital of the Turkish state, the other big republic in the Old World. Many Turks start to flee northward in hopes of safety from French onslaught in their land, with the goal in mind of heading to Russian Azerbaijan. But, there in Konya, the French stay still for many months, allowing for Turkish forces to reorganize, guaranteeing that the refugees would remain safe for at least a few more months still. Then, in September, after the Battle of Bloody Dnieper had come to an end, the French rapidly marched west to Constantinople, opening up a route for Turks to regain Konya and much of their previously held southern territories. The Turks then wheeled west in pursuit of the French, but the French were able to hold their ground at Nazly, confirming their positions at the western end of Anatolia.

In the south, King Saud III of the Saudi State declares war upon Hedjaz, with he and King Fahd of Syria leading the charge against them, rushing from the barren deserts of Central Arabia. In the resulting confusion, Hedjazi forces fighting the French in Palestine collapses. French forces quickly follow south in pursuit, only for King Fahd to surprise the French at Halat Ammar, securing a decisive and important victory.

In the east, King Sulayman of Iraq flees to Mosul as Persian forces take the last of the densely populated portions of his country. His army was quick to follow, and by December, the Persians had begun entering Kurdistan from Iraq. In the east, the Zagros mountains between Kurdistan and Persia allowed for enough defensive capabilities to make an invasion from there unnecessarily harsh and brutal.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Since I've already been posting characters, might as well continue the trend.



Fahd al-Salil is the current King of Syria. Known for his dynamism and his ambition, as well as his pragmatism and patience, he is currently leading Syria, rather successfully, against France, Britain, and their respective allies in the Middle East. Fahd himself is a Sunni Muslim, but Syria is a kingdom with a considerable many different religious groups, and now with the occupation of the Two Patriarchies, a large influx of Christians has been added to the Syrian State. This has more-or-less forced Fahd and the Salilid dynasty to a policy of secularism, for if they do anything to offend the non-Sunnis, they're suddenly offending well over a third of the Syrian population. Fahd has indeed, at least so far, been successful in navigating the complicated Sunni-Shia divisions and rallying the Syrian people not behind Islam or any given branch of it, but behind the Syrian Nation itself.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

The Mediterranean remains a fiercely contested battleground, as France uses what Britain considers to be “dirty tactics.” Britain had started to design their own Waraeros, but they would not see service until November. In the meantime, the Royal Navy was consistently reinforced, especially from the short-lived Caribbean theatre, which was already coming to a close.

French forces continued to advance into Sicily, and in October, the last of the large-scale Sicilian resistance came to an end. The next month, Joseph V of Naples was able to be slipped over to Syracuse, where he was confirmed and crowned, formally, as the one true King of Sicily. Joseph would than be trapped in Sicily while British ships made it too dangerous to return.

The most important event in the Western Mediterranean in late 1915 was in Tripoli. Since the end of the Third Explorers’ War, Tripolitania had been quite discontent with their position as a French pet, and earlier in 1915, the old king, Mehmed IV, replaced by his brother Yusuf III Karamanli. So, in May the Tripolitanians sent a message to the Brits saying they were willing to switch sides. In August, British ships and limited British troops were landed in the city of Tripoli, and a treaty was signed between Yusuf and the British Admiral William Tyson (son of the infamous Arvel Tyson), securing Tripolitanian switch to the British side.

The French and many of their allies were understandably livid. Tripolitanian soldiers in the Armee were locked up in executed upon orders of Prince Galtier, who had been increasingly been given power as Emperor Charles d’Egier grew more feeble. The French weren’t the only ones angry at the switch, as some of Yusuf III’s brothers and cousins were in favor of the French. France is now preparing to throw off the Brits and the treacherous Yusuf from Tripoli.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Back in January of 1915, Peter Romanov, pretender to the Russian Throne, met in Helsingfors with King Eric XVI of Sweden and Swedish Prime Minister Ernst Langenberg. There, the Swedes came for one thing and one thing only: Finland. They seeked to right the wrongs done over a hundred years ago. After many months of on-and-off negotiation, Peter Romanov finally agreed to hand over Finland to the Swedes, in turn for large sum of money, additional payments in the future, and many other concessions. This agreement came to full affect on June 21st. On the same day, Eric XVI was crowned Grand Duke of Finland in Abo.

At the same time in Rimlyangrad, President Isaac Petrov was meeting with, among others, Finnish separatists. They came to an understanding, that being that Isaac Petrov and the Russian Republic will support Finnish independence if Finns fought side by side with Russians, and were willing to hold off on independence until the war was over.

June 21st was thus seen as the beginning of the Finnish struggle for independence against Sweden. Throughout late 1915, Sweden would march to secure Finland, but they would be met with stiff, unconventional resistance. The Finns would hide in the vast wilderness of their homeland, and when the Swedes go to hunt down the Finns, they would find nothing but empty camps. As the Swedes would return to base, they would be harassed from a distance the whole way back.

By Christmas of 1915, the Swedes would nominally control all of the Grand Duchy, but they still had a long way to go to rule it.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

Many of the characters here were mentioned at some point, at least in the story I write with the TL, but some I haven't, namely the 2nd and 3rd child of Napoleon II and their respective descendants. At this point, I'm honestly not sure what the story of Joseph and his descendants are. Joseph likely was a general in the French military, but probably never saw much combat outside of taking down a rebellion or two. Lucien his son I'd honestly not be surprised if they headed off to America or something.

I didn't include wives or husbands in this, because I feared it would clutter up the image too much. That being said, Napoleon I ended up marrying Catherine Pavlovna Romanov, sister of Emperor Alexander I. I do have the names of many other spouses of the Bonaparte family, including Anne's (daughter of Nappie) husband Christian of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glucksburg, heir to the Danish Throne.

Note on the Illegitimate children of Napoleon III: There's many out there, no one's quite sure how many. Napoleon III himself confirmed 12, of which have been given the special family name of "de Corse," "of Corsica." Often, this name is translated into English as "Decor." Currently, there's a rather prominent American painter with the name, Henry Decor, illegitimate grandson of Napoleon III.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

The Light that'll Never Die

Frankish Kings and the Goths were a menace

With their knights ravaging the land

Then a man came out of the darkness

With a maiden walking hand-and-hand

These two gave a single little promise

That they would restore the glory of Rome!

That they would go on however helpless

That they would fight underneath the Dome!

And it’s true their battle rages onward

Now upon the Dnieper’s crystal shore

With the Franks ever pushing Eastward

Now they hear Russia’s soldiers roar!

In the light of Rome’s fading flicker

We shall know the light will never die

For our Russia will never know surrender!

We will fight until God’s end is nigh!

To the tune of Katyusha

Another step into the World Born at Tilsit and the War of the Russian Succession. This time, a particularly patriotic Russian pens a song glorifying Russia as the successor to Rome, taking up the torch of Justinian and Theodora of Restoring Rome. The French (and to some extent the Brits) meanwhile are cast off as the Barbarians that attempted to destroy Rome.

[MinnesotaNationalist]

The Province of Cubeck, member of the Dominion of Canada and the only part of the British Empire with a French speaking majority (much to the displeasure of every good, Frenchmen-hating Anglo-Saxon in the Empire). The Brits only allow Cubeck to keep it's French language because they fear what would happen otherwise (not like the Cubeckians like their situation any less), although all laws in Cubeck have to be written in English, as well as French.

The Province of Cubeck used to be known as Quebec, but during the American War in the 1860's, the name was changed due to anti-French resentment. Soon, a large wave of name and word changes, removing and rewriting many of the more obviously French parts of the English language, most notably in removing the three most hated letters in the British Empire: Que. This culminated in Anne II changing her title from "Queen" to "Cween," favoring the more Celtic-appearing spelling over the French. Today, Que is a common derogatory term for Frenchmen and French-sympathizers.

The only part of the English-speaking world that didn't go through this change was, of course, America. But even there, some are trying to implement the reformed English in the country. It's common to notice that Pro-British writers and journalists will write with the reformed spelling. Hell, even when non-political writing, the new spelling will pop up, immediately informing the reader who the author supports. One romance novel was boycotted by Republicans over the fact that the author, a Democrat Anglophile, had written in the book in reformed English.